


The Ties that Bind

by Wishme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker Fic, Gen, M/M, Schmoop, family time at the bunker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 12:51:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/849769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wishme/pseuds/Wishme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Family is more than blood. Sometimes it's whoever shows up to dinner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ties that Bind

Living out of motel rooms for the better part of 25 years didn't really prepare a man for sudden domesticity. Dust was a huge part of their problem and the boys spent what felt like weeks dusting, sweeping, mopping, and disinfecting. It didn't help that each room they cleaned to yet another full of more artifacts and folios and ephemera and dust. Not that the Men of Letters could be called dirty by any means, far from it. But even a place kept to military standards cedes to entropy after fifty years. A soft, dusty sort of entropy, but entropy nonetheless. Dean finds cleaning meditative in the way he found working in the salvage yard or detailing Baby. Sam attacks it like any other sort of small necessary task—a distraction from his research worth it for the new material they uncover. Kevin whines until Dean promises him a gold star on his chore sheet, but he's the one that shows them how to make the black tea, lemon, &  ginger floor washing fluid his mother preferred.  He locks himself in his room for hours after that. They let him.  
  
The point is that where there is permanent space there are chores and those chores get shared. Charlie even kicks in to help when she stops by, offering this tip or another. Oxyclean is her newest contribution—it gets blood out of whites like nothing else. She even brings new med kits when they’re running low. They don’t ask questions.   
  
For all that they successfully split the responsibility for the common spaces (no one likes bathroom duty) the only non-contested geography is the kitchen—that’s Dean's. Sure, Sam makes his weird-ass health shakes before his runs and Kevin makes his late-night Mac and cheese, but Dean is the one that keeps them fed. Lucky for him, he that cooks does not clean, even if he pitches in to save his nonstick from Kevin's steel wool fetish or explain yet again why the stainless pots can't just be left to air dry ( _Rust, Sam. You're familiar with the concept_ ).  
  
Once Cas joins them their patterns remain the same. He partakes in the chores, fitting into their rotating schedule, though it does have to be explained that they're each responsible for their own rooms which he is immensely glad for once he gets a look at Kevin's disaster area. "Teenage boy," Dean grins at him when he reports the mess to him, seemly happy that Kevin cares enough to make the space his own.  
  
And Dean is wiling to share the kitchen, sure he is. Sometimes. He teaches Cas about cross-contamination and makes him sit through every episode of "Good Eats" he can download. The former angel becomes proficient at honing knives and learns the difference between a chiffonade and a chop. In fact, he's the one who taught Dean how to make the red pepper coulis they're using tonight.  
  
Once every few weeks the call goes out and they all arrive. Dean's mad for days, hitting up Costco and prepping the sides and mains as much as he can before they descend, never mind that it's ostensibly a potluck, determined to fill them with food the way he can't with words.  Everyone brings something: Charlie brings chips and guac, Garth his home brewed rootbeer, Jody a pie or two. When Krissy and the Apple Pie Gang can make it they bring chips and some sort of cake _thing_ Dean pretends doesn’t exist. (Krissy later pretends she hates the way Dean wraps her close, kissing her forehead, but her hand fisted in his jacket gives her away) Sam does the beer run and Kevin is the smartass who brings a Tupperware (there are always leftovers) and a promise to help with dishes.  
  
They grill the chicken and the veggies, Dean prodding Sam in the side with the spatula, smacking the hands of any cretins who try to grab a taste before everything is done. Jody teases Dean for taking the time to plate each course, wiping the edges clean with his towel. He smiles indulgently, passing them off to Cas to garnish and place on the table.

They’re only quiet when their mouths are full and it’s Dean’s favorite sound. Cas’s hand finds his under the table for one quick squeeze before their family demands to hear about the newest finds they’ve uncovered in the depths of the Batcave. One week Dean hands out regulation gym shorts, another fountain pens from the stash they found, another still he makes Sam recite from a book of poetry some poor sap stashed in a desk. Laughter echoes and the food disappears.    
  
Sometimes they pile into the den to watch a movie or two, curled up against each other, trying not to explode. Sometimes they linger out back, drinking beer and telling stories—they never run out of them. Jody rarely spends the night, kissing them each on the cheek, promising a text upon safe arrival, threatening their limbs if they don’t check in every few weeks. Garth sometimes carpools with her, but is just as comfortable burrowing into the expanse of their couch, always up before everyone else the next morning his cheerfulness forgiven by the donuts he conjures. Krissy’s fake license gets her crew around, provided she only ever gets pulled over at night—they get the bunks when they sleep over, sprawled over the edges. Dean herds Cas into their room, limbs entangled, breathing in Home. In the morning they’ll drift to their edges of the bunker, the state, the country, orbiting back once again when called. 


End file.
